


Crusher

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Stargirl (TV 2020)
Genre: Awkward Pat Dugan, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Foursome Proposal, Gyms, Humor, Kissing, Lawrence Crock has a crush, Lawrence and Paula are Swingers, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Paula Crock Understands, Propositions, Somewhat, Swingers, Trainer Lawrence Crock, bros being bros, swinging, working out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: When Lawrence met Pat, he saw another body that could benefit from some exercise at his gym. The more they interacted, became friends, he saw that body doing other things in other places. And his wife is totally supportive of this. While in the midst of an afterhours training session, Lawrence drags his feet on telling his friend a few important things. Egged on by Paula, will he say what's on his mind? How will Pat react?And does Pat have a secret or two of his own?
Relationships: Lawrence Crock & Pat Dugan, Lawrence Crock/Pat Dugan, Lawrence Crock/Paula Crock, Pat Dugan/Barbara Whitmore
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Crusher

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea as a joke, but as I kept thinking about it I realized it would make for an interesting fic. So here it is :) Enjoy!

He tastes blood. Lawrence laps at the self-made cut, teeth recoiling from where they bit too hard into his bottom lip. Nerves alight while copper fills his senses, the rush overtaking him despite it being his blood spilled. Makes the coil sitting in his stomach tighten, begging for release. He ignores it, clapping, cheering Pat on as he pushes past his record. “That’s it, bro!” he says, rocking on his heels, “Push through the pain! You’ve got this!”

Pat huffs tiredly, lifting the barbell with strained effort. Lawrence kneels, hovering nearby in case he fumbles. Scared he might retire before reaching fifty. Those fears are dashed when a second wind blows through his friend, and a roar tears through Pat that echoes in the empty gym. It sends Lawrence a few steps backwards.

Stunned, he almost misses the chirp from his phone. _Almost_.

“Keep going, Pat,” Lawrence says, “I’ll be right over here.” He snags his phone, turning to hide as he punches in his passcode. His home screen lights up; Artemis disappearing, replaced with him and Paula in their uniforms. A man strung up between them like he was catch of the day. That vanishes, too, as he opens his messages app.

It’s Paula. _Where are you?_

_With Pat._

_Should’ve known_ she responds with immediately, Lawrence rolling his eyes. He starts typing, when another message pops up a moment later. _Have you asked him?_

Whatever he tried typing gets thrown out with a few quick taps of his thumb. _Not yet_ he tells her _Haven’t found the right time._

_Right time my ass_. Lawrence scowls, glancing over his shoulder as Pat starts counting down the rest of his set. He looks at his phone again, seeing a few more messages. _Are you scared he won’t say yes? You must really like this one…_

“Crusher!”

“Be right there, Pat!” Lawrence calls, sending one last text and then turning his phone off. _Crusher doesn’t do scared._ He dashes forward, catching the shaft so it won’t clatter on the bench’s rack. “That was amazing, bro,” Lawrence tells him, grabbing a nearby water bottle and tossing it over when he sits up. “You’re really improving. You doing some of the exercises I show you?”

“When I can,” Pat sighs, breathing between gulps of water, “using… w _hat_ I can.”

Lawrence grins, clapping Pat on his shoulder. “It’s not about what you do it with, it’s about being dedicated _about_ doing it.” His expression slips when he notices the grimace on Pat’s face, like he fumbled a pass with five seconds on the clock. “Feeling okay?”

Pat shrugs, rubbing where Lawrence’s hand was. “I think I might have overdone it, today…”

“Well, you had to make up for missing yesterday’s session,” he reminds Pat, brows arched. “You’re lucky I could squeeze you in when I could…” The innuendo isn’t lost on him, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Thankfully, a ruddier Pat would not read into the tinted skin.

“I sure am,” Pat says, rubbing at his neck, “Again, totally sorry it was on such late notice. But I had to deal with a Courtney situation.”

He laughs, hand swinging, returning to Pat’s shoulder. Lawrence stops, however, and lets it hover at the last second. Drawing back, he instead mimics the other man. “Understood. If I had a nickel for every time Artemis made me leave here for a meeting at the school…” It’s not too many nickels, he and Paula always resolving those issues by e _ncouraging_ his daughter’s teachers into treating Artemis as she deserves.

“Anyway,” Pat says, “I should probably start packing up. Barbara’s probably wondering where I am.”

Lawrence frowns, something akin to a hockey puck sinking into his stomach. “You told her about our training sessions, right?”

“Oh, she knows,” he laughs, “and she’s happy. Glad I’m not spending all my time in the garage. And that I’ve got a friend my own age.” Pat stands, spine popping loud enough they both hear it. Groaning, he sinks onto the bench again. One hand pressed on his lower back while the other claws at his knee. “Really overdid it…”

Dropping onto his knee, Lawrence prods at Pat’s back. “Does it hurt when I touch here?” Pat’s yelp confirms it. “I can’t let you drive like this, bro.”

Pat sighs, a few stray hairs flopping onto his face. “Looks like it’s another night at the garage then…”

Lawrence lays a hand over his, drawing Pat’s gaze. Throws an idea blindly, hoping it’ll go through the hoop. “You can’t sleep in a garage,” he says, “at least not in the condition you’re in.” Rising, he drags his hand up Pat’s curled form and tugs on his sleeve. “Take your shirt off and lie on your chest, I’ve got something that’ll help.”

“Woah,” Pat grabs at his wrist, stopping him, “you don’t have to do that, honest. It’s –“

He pulls free from the other man’s loose grip, snickering. “Don’t try and be modest, bro. Be proud of the ‘pack you’re working on. Even if it’s just the two of us.” Lawrence challenges Pat, waiting him out. When Pat concedes by lifting the hem of his tee, Lawrence jogs a victory lap towards his gym bag. Sneaking peeks at his friend. Especially when the thin fabric covers his face and it’s only Pat’s sweaty chest. The lotion slips out of his grasp, hitting the floor. It rolls, Lawrence chasing after to the nearby treadmill that it bangs into.

“Okay,” he says, returning, “you all set up?”

“Just about.” Pat lies on the bench, straddling it so his head rests comfortably under the barbell. If he wanted, Lawrence could tip the weights off the rack and kill the man below them.

That’s not what he wants from Pat, though.

Lawrence removes the barbell, gently placing it on the floor. He squirts some of the lotion onto his hands. Smears it and then gently rests in the middle of Pat’s back. “I’m going to start here,” he tells him, “working my way to where it hurts the most. That’s near your tailbone, right?” Pat mutters and nods. “Okay, let me know if I, uh – go to hard.” He snorts, especially when Pat cranes his neck to shoot a mild glare at him. “What?”

“Can you not say stuff like that?” he asks, “This is already _embarrassing_.”

“Embarrassing?” Lawrence asks, “What’s so embarrassing about a bro helping another bro out?”

Pat stares ahead, no longer meeting Lawrence’s gaze. He continues rubbing regardless. “Well,” he finally says, “you aren’t… I mean, given how this looks –“

“Pat,” he says, “there’s no one here. Who cares?” He relaxes under Lawrence’s touch, fingers digging into the planes of his back with reverence. There’s a dark freckle on the left that Lawrence rubs his thumb on longer than he should. “Besides,” he continues, “two hot guys like us? Folks’d be lucky to see this kind of action outside've'a crappy website.”

Seizing, Pat tries turning except halfway through his spine locks. Lawrence rubs at the spot, coaxing his friend into the earlier position. “Larry…”

“It’s Crusher, bro,” he says, kneading at the space under his neck, “and don’t talk right now, okay? Let me work on the pain.” Expecting more resistance, Lawrence follows the curve of Pat’s spine. Rides the rollercoaster that are his vertebrae and, when he reaches the end, resists sliding further.

There’s no fight left. Lawrence happily works deeper into Pat’s skin, squeezing his hips and enjoying how he keens at the touch.

“That’s right, bro,” he says, “let me make you feel good.”

No response. Either Pat ignores his antics, or Lawrence’s fingers were really magic. While he hopes for the second, the first is probably the right answer. Either way, Lawrence decides he won’t risk it. Instead savoring the intimate contact. As much he can, without racing thoughts ruining the mood. Zipping past like in a race, batons being passed around with wild abandon. He’s much smoother than I thought. What’s the line I feel along the ribs, a scar? Does he like this as much as I do? Will he say yes? Will he be okay with it? Will we still be friends after?

“Hey,” Pat starts, breaking the silence. Lawrence wakes from his trance, hands midway through groping his shoulders. “I’m feeling much better.”

“You are? Why not try sitting up?”

Pat does. He gives the other man space as he sits, stretching, arms arcing to meet in the middle above his head. Then Pat twists. There’s no screams. No wincing. Not even a sharp inhale. Actually, Pat’s body turns farther than he could before. “Wow,” he says, doing the other side, “I… this is _great_. What was in that stuff?”

“This?” He shakes the bottle, placing it down once more. “Some plant shit. Paula’s better with those names than me… oh! And some CBD. _That_ I remember.” Scandal flitters across Pat’s features, encouraging mirth in his. “Come on, Pat, it’s _wholly_ different than the drug. Won’t get high from this, I promise. I use it all the time after _intense_ sessions.”

Tracking down targets in alleyways, ramming garbage cans like the linebacker he was. Getting hit with his own pucks when a rare miss bounces and hits him in friendly fire. Dealing with the headache from being repeatedly hit by a flying, metal rod. His wife’s concoction cuts through all of that and helps recover his spirit.

“Well… thanks, Crusher, again” Pat says, rubbing his hands on his knees. Shirt pooled at his feet; he doesn’t grab for it yet. “I should get going for real this time.” He doesn’t move.

Lawrence sees it. The clock counting down. With seconds left, he has time for one last play. Given how it usually goes in last ditch efforts, Lawrence needs a Hail Mary.

He throws his legs over Pat, straddling him. Pat’s eyes widen at the closeness, chin retreating as his neck stretches back. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to try something,” he shrugs, playing with the hairs curling at the nape of his neck. He dips his chin, lips curling, “You’re a really great friend, Pat.”

“Yeah,” Pat says, gingerly poking at his waist, “you are, too. A great _friend_.” The emphasis isn’t lost on Lawrence. Actually, it makes his grin widen further.

“Thanks.” He knocks their foreheads together, unblinking. “And friends… the great ones that is, they share. What’s on their minds, what’s in their hearts… what’s in their beds –“

“W-what?”

“You and me,” Lawrence tells Pat, “Paula and Barbara. Think about it – I have… I think we can all have really fun together. That is, if you’re interested.”

From where he sits, Lawrence can sense at least some part of him is. There’s a slight hesitation in his eyes, though, keeping him from fully committing. “Your wife,” Pat croaks, mouth parted slightly, “she’s… she’s okay with this?”

“Paula? She suggested it.” Paula and he understood each other on an entirely different level. Always able to sense how the other was feeling. Ever since Pat came into town, Lawrence acted strange. Subtle things stood out, she explained. Texting when they were together, smiling at his phone. Bringing Pat up while eating dinner, flying compliments under the radar. Moaning Pat’s name in his sleep. All Lawrence didn’t realize until Paula told him.

Once he accepted those actions for what they meant, Paula asked Lawrence a simple question. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Barbara,” Pat continues, clearing his throat, “I don’t know if she…”

“You can ask her.” Lawrence nuzzles their noses together, chuckling. “Suggest it, see how she feels. If it’s a no, then it’s a no… but you know that ol’ Gretzky motto.”

“You miss one-hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.” They say it in unison, Lawrence’s heart flipping within his chest like a thirteen-year old gymnast. He loves the feeling as much as he hates it. Sportsmaster shouldn’t be moved so easily, and yet…

“Hey,” he says, “can I… can I try something? If that’s okay?” They’re a breath apart, Lawrence smelling the peanut butter from a protein bar Pat ate earlier. The cut on his lip tingles in anticipation.

“Larry –“

“Crusher,” he reminds him.

Pat sighs, “Crusher, I…” His tongue dashes out, licking the corners of his lip. Hands creep forward and loosely ensnare his wrists, barely mustering enough strength to remove Lawrence’s hands from Pat’s neck. “Okay.”

Lawrence kisses Pat. It reminds Lawrence of youthful days where he practiced kissing on hockey sticks, imagining either a cheerleader or a teammate depending on the day. Good in theory but barely a spark. But then Pat tilts his head and follows Lawrence’s lead. His eyes slip closed. Emboldened, Lawrence grinds against Pat.

This shocks the other man out of it. Pat throws Lawrence off of him, standing. He gathers his belongings, talking while Lawrence watches. “Can’t believe we – that was… and I didn’t know you were… what am I going to tell -?” Half-starts that never finish. Lawrence hopes, if their relationship moves forward, this won’t apply elsewhere.

“Hey,” Lawrence smirks, casually pocketing his hands, “no big deal, right? What’s a little kiss between friends? Bros?”

“It is a big deal,” Pat tells him, “I’m married –“

“So am I.”

“But you –“

“But my wife is okay with this,” he says, “of us. Of… _all_ of us, if that’s okay with you.” Lawrence reaches for Pat, grabbing his wrist before he can pull away. Holds on with more than his average amount of strength. “I mean it. If you both aren’t up to it, then that’s that and we can continue being bros. What do you say?”

Pat sighs, mouth set in a firm line. “I don’t know how you think we can go back to normal after… _that_.”

“Because you’re my bro,” he says, “and _this_ ain’t gonna ruin it. So, what do you say? Will you at least think about it?”

A long beat passes where neither move. Pat stalls, clearly thinking over what he should say. Lawrence’s grip remains firm on his wrist, pressure increasing the longer he holds on. Releasing him only when he agrees. “I’ll think it over,” Pat drags a hand over his face, “but no promises.”

“That works for me.”

Pat collects the last of his things, not bothering with his shirt as he runs off. Lawrence doesn’t linger on Pat’s exit. He understands how shocking a proposal like the one suggested might sound, especially to a man with small town sensibilities such as Pat. But Sportsmaster always gets his mark. It might take longer than he would like. Pat is worth it.

While applying some of the lotion onto his own shoulders, his phone chirps again. Lawrence dries his hands and picks it up.

There’s another message from Paula, along with a missed call from Jordan. _Bad news._

He frowns, typing. _What is it?_

Her next text comes in immediately. While reading it, Lawrence feels like one of her arrows pierced his chest, hitting the dead center of his heart. Lawrence collapses onto the bench with a wounded sigh. Copper heavy on his tongue.

Sportsmaster wraps his fingers around the arrow and pulls. The weapon leaves his chest with a _sickening_ squelch, clattering onto the floor. Smiling, face numb, Sportsmaster responds. _Okay_. He chuckles, twisted glee evolving as his laughter booms; echoing in the completely empty space. “Pat,” he croons, “Pat, Pat, Pat… looks like I won’t have to wait for some action _after all_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if you did - drop a kudos &/or a comment.


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